


Taxes

by yankmywand



Category: MorMor - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankmywand/pseuds/yankmywand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distractions are the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taxes

The loud slam of hands to the table made Jim wrinkle his nose, and he shoved the papers further up on the table where he looked up at the tiger who tried his best not to give up and reach for his cigarettes. Jim had told him no cigarettes while sorting through their taxes. But Sebastian’s hand was constantly moving over towards the packet of cigarettes that were further away from him on the table. Staring at Jim with a sour glance, his face grimacing while Jim tried to explain to him that this was a thing everyone had to do.

Taxes.

If there was one thing Sebastian Moran hated more than anything, it was doing his taxes. He leaned back into the chair and his hand danced further and further towards the packet of cigarettes. The kick to his leg made him jump, and there was a sound of something falling to the floor. Reaching down, he took the packet of cigarettes and heard a warning tut coming from Jim. Instead of putting the cigarettes back onto the table, Sebastian took his time as he reached down to pick up the packet. When Jim heard the sound of the lighter coming to life, he reached over and pulled Sebastian back by the collar of his shirt.

“No,” He said with a serious tone, and he actually reached out and flicked Sebastian’s nose, “bad, _bad_ tiger.”

Staring at the smoke that billowed from the tip of the cigarette, and from Sebastian’s nostrils, he looked up to meet the gaze of the sniper who grinned as if he had just had the best sex of his life. This, of course, didn’t really make Jim happy.

The papers on the table were incredibly important; they were the kinds of papers that Sebastian wouldn’t touch with a pair of pincers, and Jim had stacked them in chronological order. January to December. Not taking his eyes off of Sebastian, Jim leaned over and grabbed the cigarette from his lips. It fizzled out once it hit the water in the glass next to the stacks of papers, and Jim went back counting. Rolling his eyes, Sebastian reached out, his fingers threading through Jim’s soft black hair. A sharp turn of Jim’s head, and those brown eyes burning anger towards Sebastian, only served to make the sniper more interested in distracting his employer. It wasn’t his taxes, after all. And he was bored.

“Remove your hand, stupid animal,” Jim’s voice was poisonous, and Sebastian removed his hand, before he took the packet of cigarettes again and he pulled out a new and unharmed cigarette. Lighting it up, he stared defiantly at Jim, while the criminal stared back with fuming anger, and Sebastian swore he could see steam coming out of Jim’s ears. A snicker, and Jim leaned up from writing, and back to the backrest of his chair. He stared at Sebastian for a good minute, before he reached for the lighter, the packet of cigarettes and the cigarette in Sebastian’s mouth.

Distractions. It was all distractions. Sebastian knew about the distractions. And so when Jim stood, and walked towards the trashcan with his cigarettes and the lighter, Sebastian breathed heavily through his nose and gave Jim a glance of _I don’t fucking care._ Drawing his hands up to his face, he rubbed it, before he leaned over the table. Over the papers that Jim had stacked up so nicely, and then he turned on his side, still sitting in the chair. Before Jim knew it, Sebastian took some of the papers , crinkled them in his hands, and dropped them to the floor, his temple resting onto his forearm.  

With Jim’s eyes on him, the sniper gave Jim a daring glance, and there was a loud clank of the ashtray dropping to the floor. The glass from the ashtray went everywhere, and Jim took the last few steps up to Sebastian and there was a violent grasp, hair was pulled out, and Sebastian’s head yanked back and he was pulled back into the chair by his hair.

Strands fell to the floor as Jim let go, and Sebastian could feel the sting of his scalp, and the sweet pain that gave his heart a flutter. Usually, when Jim pulled his hair, Sebastian was in for a long night of hair pulling, legs tangling and blood spilling. But this moment, when Sebastian was released, it did not mean sex for the blonde sniper. Instead, Jim grasped his collar and he pushed him back to the chair, having moved so that he stood in front of Sebastian. The table was pushed aside, and since Sebastian had made a mess of them anyway, Jim didn’t see a point in keeping them stacked and in order.

Giving Jim his most defiant look, only because he knew that it triggered the smaller man, Sebastian reached out with his foot, put it against the table, and between Jim’s legs. Not saying anything, he lifted his leg more, and that way, Jim slid down his leg, almost like riding the bannister down a staircase. When Jim was in reach, Sebastian reached for him, and pulled him up to his body. The reluctant criminal almost squirmed out of Sebastian’s grip, but the sniper was stronger, and he put both hands underneath Jim’s suit jacket.

“Let go of me, you stupid f—“ But his mouth was captured, claimed by the sniper, and Jim pushed his hands to Sebastian’s shoulders, angry about the papers, but getting more and more languid in Sebastian’s arms, as the tiger’s tongue stroked against his own, as it licked, and tasted, and did things to Jim that he wanted to kill Sebastian for. He blamed the man for everything that happened to him. Mundane things, like getting spaghetti on his new suit, which was Sebastian’s fault. Having to go to Tesco in the middle of the night, was Sebastian’s fault. Even the dolphins getting slaughtered in Japan was Sebastian’s fault. But this, oh, this gave him chills down to his spine, and of course, it was still Sebastian’s fault.

Finally, he pushed away from the sniper, and he looked over at the table where his taxes had once been in order. He shook his head, and there was a small huff of a snort, before Jim turned back to Sebastian. The slap across his face echoed in the living room, and Sebastian closed one eye, before he turned his face to look at Jim with a puzzled look. As if not understanding what had earned him that kind of punishment. Maybe it was the kiss, maybe it was the fact that he had messed up Jim’s order of things. He reached up and ruffled Jim’s hair slightly, before he stood, and towering over Jim, with the red mark of the Irishman’s hand on his cheek. It was pounding, like any slap mark would, and he licked his lips, like a predator ready for dinner. Leaning down over Jim, he put both hands at the table, on either side of Jim’s frame. This caused Jim to be leaned down across the table, messing up the papers even more, and Sebastian could not care less, when a grin appeared on his lips, when he had Jim trapped in his arms. Instead of giving Jim a heads up, he lifted his knee, and pressed it teasingly between Jim’s legs.

It was a noise that made Sebastian’s body burn with want, when Jim opened his mouth and moaned against the side of the sniper’s neck. Morning sex had been forgotten, when Sebastian had woken up to an empty bed, and the sound of Jim whistling in the kitchen, making fruit loops for Sebastian to eat. Not the most sturdy meal, but the sweetness of it all made him more alert, and with a pinch of coffee, it actually was a good breakfast. Jim wouldn’t have him eat anything else. Oats? Who wanted that?

But when Sebastian felt the erection of the criminal against his thigh, there was an immediate turn of thought. He was not thinking of oats or fruit loops or breakfast anymore. All he thought of were the ways he could bend Jim over and make him forget about his name, where he lived and how old he was. And most importantly; Taxes. There were no words in the air, Jim had gone quiet, but Sebastian knew that he would soon start making noises. Noises that Sebastian’s hand and mouth could coax out of the Irishman. Staring up at Sebastian, Jim’s eyes were half-lidded, and the criminal realized that he had been stupid in coming close to the sniper at all. Turning his head away when Sebastian kissed him, was a fail-safe way to get Sebastian’s anger burning, blood boiling and lips snarling at him. Twisting slightly in Sebastian’s strong arms, the anger fuming and digging holes in Jim, he grasped the table, and there was a slide, and Jim had twisted, moved out of the strong hold of his marksman.

Not too happy with the outcome, Sebastian turned, and watched James walk away with a strut of anger. Angry. James was angry, and Sebastian loved Jim angry. Sebastian’s lips parted, and he stood from the chair, walking over towards Jim,

“James, come back,” But there was no answer from the bedroom once it had shut. No answer what-so-ever, and Sebastian leaned his head to the bedroom door, with a slight grin on his face.

“Come out, and I’ll fuckin’ help you, before you make yourself sick with anger.”

From the bedroom came,

“No one gets sick with fucking anger, you stupid shit.”

“Of course they do, and then they feel sick, and then they take it out on other people.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sebastian.”

“See?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Step away from the door, or I will kill you.”

Stepping away from the door, Sebastian shook his head and leaned to the wall beside the door, waiting for Jim to get out. On his way out, Jim felt the hands around his waist, and the pull of gravity. Sebastian had pulled him to the floor, and there was a screech coming from the criminal as he looked up at the green-eyed tiger. And there was that kiss again. A hard, teeth-clanking one, where Jim groaned, his legs immediately wrapped around the waist of the tiger. Jim’s lips were constantly moving and the breathlessness of the two men. Jim was still reluctant, but the way Sebastian coerced him with his mouth, his roaming hands that moved underneath his shirt.

“St—“ But Jim couldn’t speak, as his mouth was covered by the tiger’s.

Fingers tangled themselves in Sebastian’s hair, and there was a soft grin on the sniper’s lips. No more taxes would be done that day.

 


End file.
